Sweet Queen Jeans
by Whispers To Kill
Summary: There had once been a time when she was blissful and ignorant of the importance o f numbers and size and weight; however now recognizing the paramountcy of thes e concepts, she needed these jeans to fi t, for if they did not, then she had fai led herself, her goals, and her work.


The zingy, bubbly hum of pop music throb bed atop a muddle of cheerful voices as the high ceiling lights rained a pleasa n t white glow upon the clothing below. Th shelves of the boutique towered to l i m its no being could ever reach, piled h ig h with voguish apparel. The slende r p orc elain limbs of mannequins were a dorn ed i n vibrant chic outfits; dresse s pat terne d like lace doilies flashed in fuc hsia a nd turquoise as they glimm ered fr om rack s; shirts striped like n ational flags s wayed on thin wire hange rs, and jackets with brass buttons smile d at eac h shoppe r. The store whose bou ndaries s he had st epped within was fla wlessly fa bish and a whiz of color and style.

Her eyes sparkled in hazel delight as th ey spied a skyscraper of jeans, and she wandered towards them with a breezy smi l e. Her old denims no longer fit prope r ly , and how pleasant a realization t h at ha d been! The waistbands of her c u rr en t pa irs had become significantl y loo se, and the drooping thighs of the t hick bl ue fa bric sagged and folded ove r it self . This particular shop sol d je ans d esign ed for a variation of f igure s. Pre viousl y, she had worn pant s of s lim wai st and thicke r thigh; aw are of her prog ress, s he eage rly deem ed hers elf now r eady to don size zero super-sk inny slim- fit jean s. She r el ished the thought wi th an exu berant fl utter in her heart a nd wide, g reedy g ree n eye s, for she ha d labored t o th in; she ha d made progres s. She snatc h ed a pair i n size zero and headed for t he dressing room at a glee ful, speedy pa ce.

Secure inside the room she faced a smudg ed, silver mirror. She tore her old jea n s to the floor and bit her dried lip i n anticipation. The new jeans were tig ht , a fit that constricted her skin e lo ser to the bone as she tugged u p the wai st. Her heart skipped a beat a s sh e atte mpted to yank the clasp close d. She suck ed in her stomach deeply, de sp erat ely fo rcing the snap closed. Th e y were too tig ht — much too tight. Her br eath began to quicken in anxiety; sh e wo uld m ake them fit! Why wouldn't th ey fi t? She was thi nner — much thinne r , not beauti fully thi n, but thinner ce rtainl y. Even her scale said so — he r s cale sa id she was fiftee n pounds l ess than the previo us month!

Oh, they had to fit; they had to; they h ad to! Her hands trembled as she ripped them off and pulled back on her old one s . She exited hurriedly and rushed ba where she had found them, desperat e ly grabbing three more of the same siz e an d style in a hope that the first wa uke . Back in the dressing room she t r ied them again and again. No, no! Oh , b ut t hey must!

It was a mental war. There had once been a time when she was blissful and ignora nt of the importance of numbers and siz e and weight; however now recognizin pa ramountcy of these concepts, she n ee d ed these jeans to fit, for if they did n ot, then she had failed herself, h er g oa ls, and her work. Possibly, she w o ul d no t be capable of handling the me nt al repe rcussions of this failure; al r e ady she h ad starved for these jeans , c onsu ming a single fruit per day, sh eddi ng po unds, a nd waiting for the we ight to mel t from h er body. To be the thin n est siz e availab le was her only desi re . She wo uld need a harsher met hod of di eting if these jean s would no t fit her. Was she capable of surviving and hi ding a harshe r method? O f cours e she c ould . Beauty w as her singl e g oal, and ther e was no ha rm in no food , only r elief, only progre ss, only bea ut y.

She tugged on the third pair and closed the clasp with only slight discomfort. T he relief and the pleasure that flooded her body was a tsunami of ecstasy; a ma n ic grin gifted her face as she gazed w it hin the mirror: size zero, super-sk in ny slim-fit. She had made progress; s he wa s winning; she was thinner. The co nst ant whine in her stomach, the ang ry chor us in her brain, the protests i n he r sha kin g body and the headache i n her head were all becoming worthwhile — and even slo wly becoming a part of he r . Th e outl ine of her ribs was rising b eneat h her s kin, the bones in her a rms and h ips coul d be felt with the to uch of a f inger, an d th ough she still ha d a surp lus to be cast away, she ha d en tered the path to b eauty .

Thinner, prettier, disciplined, controll ed, starving for beauty, and super-skin n y slim-fit zero: she had achieved som e th ing, and she had gained a little m o re wo rth.

But she still had far to go. She needed protruding hip bones, prominent ribs, wi der thigh gaps, fleshless arms and legs , a stomach that caved inward and jutti n g cheekbones to highlight. She needed to battle the ugly voice in her stomach th a t screamed "Calories please," the d irt y rumbles and grumbles, and the ir ri tati ng whines of hunger. She needed to resis t the luxurious scents of fluf f y G auffre s dripping with warm melted c hoco late an d warm sweet strawberrie s, steam ing, but te red, parsley-covere d m oules mariniere , a nd crisp, hot sa lty frites . Beauty a nd b ones, beauty and bones f or that was the motto of swe et Q ueen Siz e Zero Supp er-Sk inny Sli m-Fit .

So she knelt before her dearest queen an d shed her tears and pounds.


End file.
